I, transformed into a vampire girl, sparked the Industrial Revolution.

Chapter 93 The Iron Fist Under the Three-Colored Flag

"Bombardment—"

Although the war had only been going on for three days, the veterans of the Lasvia Empire who survived the Battle of Kosoya had gradually become familiar with the sound of artillery shells cutting through the air, and that unforgettable sound would forever remain their nightmare.

call out----

Some people shouted at the top of their lungs, some hurriedly took cover, searching for any corner they thought would protect them from direct hits, and some simply huddled up and prayed they wouldn't be blown up.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom...

A deafening roar, like the end of the world, filled the air. The blasted earth and rocks were like sand being tossed about in a sieve, thrown high into the air and then falling back down. Every now and then, blurry things that were once parts of people flew up and down. A soldier's face was suddenly covered by a sticky thing. When he wiped it with his hand, he found that it was a piece of internal organ that he didn't know which part it was.

"Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!!!!!!"

If the earth-shaking was not still ongoing, surely some people would have struggled to their feet and fled towards home. The troops, having already been bombarded by the modern artillery of the American West, were no longer interested in the ethereal hell of the Southern Church, because they were already in hell themselves.

Almost everyone closed their eyes, covered their ears, and opened their mouths wide, burying themselves in the ground. A section of trench collapsed, burying several soldiers inside with earth and rocks. A forward artillery position was hit by a 75mm howitzer, and the gunpowder packs stored inside exploded. Nearby soldiers were torn apart by the shockwave. A severed hand with a sleeve flew to the side like a boomerang, the exposed bone stuck in the ground, and blood stained the earth red.

This is the situation they are facing. In the past three days, the Amerlansi army in the Kosoya region has fired more shells than the total number of shells fired in all battles last year. The consumption is too great, but the effect is immediate. No unit can withstand three rounds of shelling. If it can, then another round will be fired.

The disaster finally subsided, but it did not bring back radicalism. Cries and curses descended. Among the soldiers who were lucky enough not to be killed directly by the shelling, there were many who were missing limbs. They covered their severed limbs and cried out in pain and despair. Of course, those who were lucky enough to see their severed arms or legs often cried even louder.

"Damn it! Damn it! Take the injured to the back, and everyone who can move, get up!"

The trenches did allow them to maintain their fighting capacity. A group of defeated soldiers, having regrouped, lost several hundred men, but nearly ten thousand were still able to stand. Their flintlock rifles were like sticks, but they were indeed their only weapons.

Trying to fight the Ameranian troops with swords is futile, as is the use of cavalry. Even if they could withstand bullets, artillery would blast them to pieces. A recruit stood blankly against the trench, having just watched a comrade be hit directly by a shell, leaving only two smoking severed legs blown to his face by the shockwave.

"enemy!!!!!!!"

He vaguely heard a whistle. An old soldier told him that this was how the Amelan Western Army attacked: first, a brutal artillery barrage, then a whistle, and their soldiers would charge at them in a sparse manner with their heads down. At this time, their automatic weapons would start firing, and if any unlucky person peeked out, they might have their head shaved off by a few bullets.

He couldn't help but peek out halfway, and luckily he was still on his side. He didn't get his head chopped off, and the demon's machine gun wasn't aimed at him yet, but he did see that blurry, huge thing.

"Armored vehicle!!!"

Armored vehicles, that's what the veterans call those iron things. That's right, they are vehicles, nothing else, not some kind of demonic black magic. They are vehicles, similar to horse-drawn carriages, but they don't need carriages. They move on their own, covered in iron armor, and equipped with two rapid-fire weapons on their heads. There's no way to destroy them except by occasionally hitting them head-on with exploding shells.

"You! It's you!"

The officer patted him on the shoulder, and he looked fearfully at what the officer was holding—a package containing magic crystal black powder. The old soldier had said that starting yesterday, the officer would grab some unlucky guys and force them with knives and guns to carry explosives toward the armored vehicles. Most of the time it was useless because there was always half a battalion of soldiers following behind the armored vehicles, and there were also two automatic weapons on them.

"Private First Class! Bring the explosives and blow up those metal things from the demon race!"

This was the only means, but it wasn't very effective. Soldiers who jumped out of the trenches were often immediately riddled with bullets. The demons' bullets were ten thousand times more powerful than their round bullets. Those bullets could fly very, very far before taking his life.

The recruit shook his head. The officer drew his pistol. He saw that the flintlock mechanism of the pistol in the officer's hand was already engaged, and it could be fired by pulling the trigger. Several bodyguards were also with him.

In the end, he was driven into the battlefield, clutching that damned explosive pack. Instead of standing up, he crawled forward, and it proved effective. Bullets flew wildly over his head. Whether it was because his clothes had turned grayish-black or something else, he hadn't been discovered yet.

One meter, two meters, three meters, ten meters, twenty meters, thirty meters. He turned around and saw an unlucky guy who had jumped out of the trench having his head chopped off. The demons' gunfire continued, but the artillery stopped, seemingly afraid of hitting their own people. At this moment, he started to have wild thoughts. He wanted to throw away the explosive pack in his hand and play dead, but the officer was still watching him.

He looked ahead, where the ugly iron tortoise roared, its iron wheels moving across the soft earth after the shelling. Suddenly, he saw a beautiful figure behind the armored vehicle. He strained to see the petite figure, whose black clothing was peculiar, whose silver-white hair was smooth and beautiful, and whose red eyes were captivating. He wanted to take another look, but then he noticed what the figure was holding. He suddenly realized that this was probably the last beautiful sight he would ever see.

If he had a wife like that, he would definitely have resisted that officer just now. Unfortunately, he has nothing, so it doesn't matter.

Alice pulled the trigger. The bullet killed the soldier, draining his blood, which flew into her hand and formed a circle. With a thought, it transformed into a submachine gun—a PPSH41 with a 71-round drum magazine. She watched the enemy trenches; occasionally, someone would raise their rifle, but no one aimed, they just fired numbly. Seeing that she was close enough, she shouted:

"Grenade!"

The grenadiers around him took out grenades. The newly manufactured grenades filled with trinitrotoluene had not made it into this battle, but there were plenty of black powder grenades. A large number of grenades were thrown from the back of the armored vehicle and landed in the enemy trenches.

"charge!!!!!"